Stunt Tail
by Repugnus
Summary: On the set with a Godzilla has-been.


Stunt Tail

He's coming towards me now, in all his power, strength and majesty. The pavement trembles and shatters as he approaches, the skyscrapers to his left, testament to mankind's engineering genius nearly surpassed by his ancient splendor. The moon light glistens off the ocean spray still clinging to his battle scarred hide as he opens his great jaws to bellow out a challenge, though there are few indeed who could accept it. He is Godzilla, King of the Monsters.

That should have been me.

A young man surveying the scene gets to his feet, and even though I know it's coming I'm still surprised at the calm authority in his voice as he yells "Cut!" And then the words I've been waiting all day for… "Stunt tail!"

It's my moment to shine.

Godzilla lumbers (lumbers! There's no other word for it) away from the break-away towers and heads off the set to have a smoke. He's never touched a cigarette of course, none of us do, it's just a little joke the people like to crack whenever we're on break. Because we "breath fire", you see. Hardy har har, my sides are splitting. And this is the same species that handles our scripts.

Anyway.

I move into position, standing on the same mark the Big G just vacated. I've memorized my part- Godzilla's tail strikes the building and drags along the surface, cutting a line of destruction. A simple direction. Easy to follow. Any lizard could do it.

I'm not "any lizard".

I was once the brightest star of us all. My name was plastered on city busses, my silhouette on Hershey bars. I had a Taco Bell endorsement, for crying out loud! I was going to turn this franchise around, show the world what Godzilla was truly capable of.

Perhaps I still can.

"Action!" the man with the fold out chair yells, and I know what he wants. A straight line of busted balsa wood. I give him so much more. My tail tears into the constructs side with a shower of splinters and then, firmly embedded, whips up and down, zigzags in a lightning bolt pattern and slashes back towards the ground in a final flourish. And even though I know it will be edited out in post production, I can't resist a roar of triumph.

The director cannot resist a roar of his own. "Cut!" he screams. "Cut, cut, cut! Just what the hell was that?!"

As if I could answer. Our mouths aren't well suited for human speech, so I simply gesture at the glorious destruction with my claws and smile. Engraved into what was once uniform brickwork and miniature windows is now the outline of Godzilla's snarling visage. It's a work of art, and I take great pride in knowing that only a tail such as mine could ever have produced it.

"Damn it!" the person (Edward something I think) exclaims. "We can't use this! The fan base will have my head on a stick! Do you have any idea how much this is going to cost to reshoot?" My shoulders slump and I hang my head. The man sighs, and places a hand on my shoulder. He has to stretch a bit to do so, but the sight would still surprise sci-fi fans across the globe. "Look, Zilla." He begins, and from his tone I know what's coming. I've heard it before. "It's not 1998. This kind of campy stuff isn't going to fly anymore, and frankly it didn't even work back then. Now, I was willing to give you a shot, but the truth is Godzilla 2000 will do this for less, and we don't even have to re-color his tail in post. I'm sorry, you're off the project."

I storm out of the lot in a huff. I pass Gamera in the street, he growls a greeting at me and waves but I ignore him. His bandages have finally come off, he needed some major nose work after what they did to his face in that last picture, and he's looking good. He has to be, his new film starts production next week. Even the flying turtle gets more work than me.

I should just head home, especially considering the funk I'm in, but I stop at the Flaming Lizard instead. I wish I could tell Paul behind the bar that the name of his joint is an insult. We don't breath fire, radioactive or otherwise. That's always added later, rotoscoped in the old days, computer generated now. Whenever you see a Godzilla attacking with a beam from his gullet, the big dope's just standing there with his mouth hanging open. Let _that_ image sink in for a minute.

At least my movie was honest.

"Zilla!" Paul greets me. "Been a while. I hear you got a part in the sequel!" I grunt, but he's a human and can't understand. "So you get to work with the Big Guy, huh? That must be something." He slides me a glass of something cold and mind numbing. No straw. I'm one of the few of us who can reach his own mouth. "Loved him in that other movie. Ya' know, the first American one?" My eyes narrow, and he realizes what he's said. "Thi- this decade, I mean. First American one this decade." He wisely finds a counter to wipe on the other side of the bar.

The "Big Guy". What a joke. I remember him when he was just playing one of my hatchlings. He was a cute kid, even had his own action figure. "Baby X" they called him, had dino damage or slashing action or something. How I'd love to leak _that _on the internet! New Godzilla Once Called Baby X! There's a headline! Maybe along with some pics of before he had his scales dyed. What, you think he's a natural charcoal grey?

I guess I should be happy for him, local boy makes good and all, but he's starring in my movie! Seriously, I was contracted for two sequels. Two of them! And I can't even hold down a stinkin' stunt job on what should have been my crowning achievement.

I finish about half of my drink before deciding to go. The place is getting too crowded for my taste. Heisei Godzilla's there, bragging as usual about his amazing six film run. Godzilla 2000's made an appearance too, bubbling over about the stunt work he's just picked up. Smug bastard. I head for home.

The light on my answering machine is blinking when I get there. Seven new messages. I consider erasing them all without even listening, but reason prevails and I hit play.

Beep. "Hey, Zilla, you wannabe! How's it feel to work with a _real _Godzilla?"

Delete.

Beep. "Hey, Tuna Head! Loved you in Final Wars!"

Delete. Never should have taken that part. But a lizard needs to eat.

Beep. "GINO! You suck!"

Delete.

Beep. "Iguanas aren't dinosaurs, you moron!"

Delete.

Beep. "Zilla. This is Peters." My claw pauses over the delete button just in time. "Just talked to Steven. He'd love to have you in Jurassic Word 2. Why don't you come down tomorrow and we'll talk."

Jurassic World 2. It's no Godzilla, but it's a start. A chance to show moviegoers the world over I've still got what it takes. My lips curl up in a toothy grin.

Three Months Later

The little man is scurrying through the mud, frantically trying to escape the approaching Tyrant Lizard. He's not going to make it. He knows it. More importantly, the T-Rex knows it. He pulls out a switch blade, a meager defense, and holds it defiantly over his head as the massive three toed foot crashes towards him.

"Cut!" the aging director yells. "Stunt foot!"

It's my moment to shine.


End file.
